Eating in Florence in summer is one of life's great pleasures. I have always been cautious of "The Italian Great City Experience" ever since reading A Room with a View by E.M. Forster, a novel next to the Arno, the river that runs through Florence. However, this time we had a raft of appointments in Italy: all social and all in a week. Florence got one night only (actually it got two, but the second one was only because Rome Railway Station burnt down and our train was very, very, very late). In the end, our room didn't have a view of much other than the hospital across the road but we were within 2 minutes walk of the Duomo (which I kept calling the Cathedral, probably because it is) and, most wonderfully, Emilio Pucci's workrooms. I don't think much of the fashion House's prints but it was still wonderful.

However, our place of abode, while central and convenient for viewing the delights of the city was devoid of anywhere to eat. This was no great loss because who wants to eat where they sleep? It just leaves crumbs everywhere...

Walking through Florence, surounded by hoards of tourists, is an oddly pleasant experience. I am not sure why. Maybe it is because it is very much a working city with people living in it and working productively. In some ways it is like London or Paris where the tourists, no matter how crammed they become on the pavements, can't overwhelm the drive of the locals to go places and do things. It means also that the shops interleave local and tourist interests because everybody has to use the same street frontages. The place has life and interest. On top of that, the town is full of wonderful historical buildings and streetscapes. It is also small which keeps things at a human scale (unlike London or Paris).

As evening fell on the one night we were there, we were wandering on the southern side of the Arno where we had heard (beats me where, as neither of us ever read any guide books and a novel written 1908 doesn't provide a lot of info on where to eat 103 years later) that life was a bit quieter there and, maybe, a bit cheaper. Coming back to my experience of London, I live one street away from a path which gets upto 60,000 tourists a day. There are no places at all to eat around where I live that don't cater to tourists or the masses of office workers (who occupy the huge buildings in which international banks love to kennel their workers). What there is, though, are places that locals use as well as the tourists in opposition to places locals don't use and leave soley to the tourists. My hope in Florence was to go to one of the former and miss the latter. On the other hand, just like London, lots of locals are on minimal wages and eat miserable rubbish - so I was keen to steer a middle path. In truth, on gorgeous warm night in a beautiful city, my thoughts were a long way from "winning" some fake trophy for finding the "most authentic" restaurant. Instead they were much closer to trailing after my feet and enjoying the crowds, the smells and the buzz.

My companion and I happened to see into an open kitchen (fly screens were in place) occupied by middle aged women and big steaming pots. One was making what looked like almond meal (I am taking a guess) and it seemed a fairly happy place. I am a happy person. It was a match. Walking around we found a door (the place was empty, hmmm) and then another door (this time mostly empty) so we went on instead of going in. Even after going round the block, the happy kitchen had stuck with us so we went back, were greeted warmly and only then noticed the few baby chairs were set next to tables nearest the doors, all of which were reserved. Grown up places that handle small children are, in my view, civilised places. Places that have accepted bookings for small children are normally the haunts of people who have done a lot more planning than I have.

So seated in quite a nice table for two, inside but near the doors, my telented companion for the evening and I perused the menu. There was no outdoor area but eating outside is for the birds (at least that is what we told ourselves). It was, as you might guess, in Italian. Neither of us know much Italian.

Given the relaxed mood of the evening, I was prepared to eat what they put in front of me. I can eat European International Cuisine pretty much anywhere TripAdvisor recommends and this wasn't a TripAdvisor kind of trip. The place was filling up with families and tourists like ourselves and pretty much everything looked good. I picked randomly Trippa alla Fiorentina for a starter and something that looked steak-like for my main (Aristarchus di maiale). My companion went for the ravioli for an entree and Pollo arrosto (with a good guess that it was roast chicken) for mains. With a jug of house red we settled back.

I soon discovered that Trippa is tripe. I haven't eaten tripe for years and years (my Dad used to cook it and his dad was a butcher, so left-overs from the shop were the norm in his family). I can't say it is my favourite food, but sliced stomach isn't as bad as it sounds. OK, the idea of my stomach slowly digesting another stomach can make my eyes water once you wonder what would happen if your own stomach suddenly got confused, but the flavour is excellent even if the smell is a little "meaty". Everywhere we went in Florence had Trippa as the first item on their menu so I can't be the only one to give it a go. The ravioli was really nice with sage and butter.

I didn't finish my starter mostly because I had about half a kilogram on the plate and I wanted to be able to see the night to its proper conclusion.

My guesswork for my mains was out. I got a large pork chop that was not beefish at all. It was fabulous. My companion's roast chicken was exactly that and done well, too. We went to town for the veggies ordering harricot beans (not good and could have been from a tin), greans (fab), potatoes (fab) and zucchini (fab). In fact we may have gone overboard. I read earlier this year that the New York Times reported that people who over-eat green vegies actually loose weight. We may have lost several killograms.

The couple next to us (German speaking) had been talking to the waiting staff in English – something that had crossed our minds to do but we had abandoned. However, since we knew they spoke English we did ask them about the quality of their Tiramusu which they had said was really good. So we also got one to share with an espresso each (didn't have to go to bed and get up early the next day). The dessert was properly flavoured with mascarpone (a very softly flavoured cheese) and coffee and it didn't have the sickly sweet flavour one gets so often. One between two was certainly sufficient.

After paying the bill we wandered happily back over the Ponte Vecchio (the fancy medieval bridge that is quite famous and impassible during the day and merely crowded late at night) past the Duomo and back to our hotel.

Getting There: Cross the Arno and turn left just before the Big Palace.

Who should eat there: People who follow their instincts and fell lucky.

Dining Style: Properly Italian.

Price: £25 with wine.

Quality: Fab.

Would I go Back: If only I could.

Phoenician Trader

22.08.11 Front Page

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